


Coin In Hand

by jessebee



Series: Side-Slip [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Graphic description of cuddling, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Messy Emotional Splatters, Qui-Gon Lives, Sequel, Severe Past Emotional Trauma, Shmi is an awesome mom, Slash, Slavery, The Fic What Ate My Brain, Time Travel, Unexplained Time Travel Shenanigans, Unresolved Sexual Tension, because I said so, the Force works in mysterious ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: There are different shapes of freedom.





	1. A Cunning Plan

I have seen from my window  
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.  
Sometimes a piece of sun  
burned like a coin in my hand.

_ Pablo Neruda _

 

 

 

 

They gathered in the shuttle _Swiftstar_ _’s_ little galley: six living, breathing Jedi.

A casual jumble of Order colors around the scarred, fold-down table – beige and black, brown and cream – punctuated by Obi-Wan himself and Anakin in wretched grays. Obi-Wan almost shivered. Familiar to the point of surreal, it was, and it wasn't familiar at all.

With Micah Giiett, Depa Billaba, and Garen Muln here, now, on Tatooine, it signaled the end of the almost charmed span of time Obi-Wan had had with Qui-Gon and Anakin, and Shmi. The rest of the galaxy was bearing down on them. Bearing down on him. Rapidly. Like the headache threatening behind his eyes.

Qui-Gon took the chair at Obi-Wan’s right side, serene and unshakable. One deep breath found Obi-Wan his own center, there so close against the other man’s _deep-well Force-calm_. The incipient headache retreated, too, praise all the little gods. The air he breathed in smelled achingly familiar, like hard use and old fabric and a hint of 'sabre blade ozone. 

At Obi-Wan’s left elbow, Anakin appeared as calm as any Jedi child could reasonably be expected to be. Inwardly, though,he was humming like a piece of struck metal, practically vibrating in their bond. Obi-Wan couldn't help but remember the first time Anakin had been before members of the Jedi Council.

_~If you wind any tighter, you're going to snap something, and that's not the first impression you want to make,~_ Obi-Wan sent, along with a wash of support and affection.

The sense of jittering eased a bit. _~I'm fine,~_ Anakin sent back. _~It's just – something's gonna_ _ **happen**_ _. I feel it.~_

 _~So do I,~_ Obi-Wan confided, and felt Anakin “lean” against him, and center, and release much of his agitation.

_~This all – sorry, Master, I'm just having an 'is this real?' moment.~_

_~Shall I pinch you?_ ~

Startlement, bright amusement. _~You do and I'll tickle you, and we'll both make a great first impression._ ~

Obi-Wan nearly smiled. Funny how reassuring Anakin also soothed himself.

“All right, we’re as secure in here as we’d be anywhere on this planet, I think.” Micah settled his heavy shoulders back into the bench seat’s worn back-padding.

“Jammers are running and the spy bug sweep didn’t show anything,” Garen said, the deep timbre of his voice a fraction too stiff for comfort, bouncing off the metal walls. He was making no effort at all to disguise the fact that he was watching Obi-Wan. And Qui-Gon, but mostly Obi-Wan. “So, will somebody please, finally, tell me what we need it for? On a Jedi ship?”

“Patience, Padawan,” Micah said, thwapping two fingers against the synthleather sleeve of Garen’s pilot's jacket. “Everything in time.”

“With respect, Master? It’s time,” Garen said.

Micah breathed out through his nose and turned his hand toward Depa, palm up. “Master Billaba?”

Depa regarded Obi-Wan with the same Masterly, serene expression he'd seen her wear for celebrations and catastrophes alike. A model of dignity, out of place in this somewhat scratch-and-dent shuttle and yet perfectly in place. Obi-Wan suppressed the abrupt urge to straighten tabards he wasn’t wearing.

“You are Ben Lars,” she said. Her voice was light but resonant, with the musical cadence Obi-Wan remembered, and the harsh galley light sparked warmth from her head-jewels. “And you are Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Something inside him did shiver at that. “I am,” Obi-Wan said.

“The being whom Master Jinn has claimed as padawan for this last near-decade.”

Obi-Wan gave her a brief, respectful nod. Both of his braids shifted, sliding across his neck, and he noticed Garen's startled twitch.

“You don't _feel_ much like a padawan, Obi-Wan,” she said, extending another gentle push against his shields.

Obi-Wan's mouth tilted. “Didn't feel like a padawan,” indeed. After four decades of Mastery, he shouldn't, even with his Force-presence damped down. “No, I don't suppose I – ”

“He's _what?”_

Micah turned a raised eyebrow on his own padawan, but Garen didn't see or didn't care. “Master Jinn's padawan? He said that before but Master Jinn doesn't _have_ a padawan, they wouldn't let him, not since – ”

“Garen Muln,” Micah said, feather-soft and heavy as stone, and Garen snapped his mouth shut.

Obi-Wan watched in a sort of bemused horror as Garen dropped his gaze to the table-top, color running violently right up to the tips of his ears, exposed by the merciless padawan haircut. Embarrassment, suspicion, and worry swirled briefly and were swamped by remorse before they were all shielded away.

Obi-Wan's own confusion grew. _~Master,_ _what is_ _ **that**_ _about?_ ~

Qui-Gon sighed in their bond. _~_ _Later, Padawan, if you please?_ ~

“Master Jinn, I offer you my most sincere apologies,” Garen said quietly, meeting Qui-Gon's eyes. “My words were utterly unworthy of a Jedi.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head but chose not to speak, and Garen went back to staring at the table.

Micah's gaze hardened. “We'll discuss this at a later time, Padawan.”

“Yes, Master,” Garen muttered.

Depa had been waiting, the Force around her exuding patience and curiosity, well-controlled, and a kind of regret?

Obi-Wan turned back to her, his own questions shelved for the moment. “Master Billaba. Master Micah has told you then of myself, and Anakin? Everything?”

Depa nodded. “In closed Council, I believe he has. It's quite a tale, of the kind that no-one has heard outside of fabulous stories for a thousand years or more, if you're to be believed. That you are more than you appear is obvious to me now, you and young Anakin both. Whether you are what Master Giiett has said?” She tilted her head.

Obi-Wan half-smiled. “I did _not_ ask to become something out of legend, Master Billaba, please believe that, if nothing else. Fame is much over-rated.”

Anakin snorted. _~There's a mouthful._ ~

“I do believe, however, that Master Giiett is correct in his assertion that you need to be brought to Coruscant and before the Council, and sooner rather than later,” Depa said.

Coruscant _._ _Home._ “It is one of my dearest wishes to see the Temple and the Order again, but you understand that I cannot, will not, leave Tatooine without both Anakin and Shmi Skywalker?” Obi-Wan asked quietly.

Depa's mouth curled slightly at the edges. “Master Giiett said as much.”

“Strongly,” Micah drawled, and Obi-Wan felt the wash of Qui-Gon's warmth and gratitude. “Fortunately, Depa has agreed to assist us with implementing my cunning plan.”

The feeling of gratitude acquired an “edge.” “Micah?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Yes!” Anakin exclaimed, in the softest little crow imaginable. “I _knew_ you'd have something!”

 _~_ _Now y_ _ou're taking shameless advantage of your physical age to emote, aren't you?_ _~_ Obi-Wan sent, wryly amused.

_~You bet; I've made my impression. There's control and then there's stodgy, y'know.~_

Garen was watching closely again, amber-brown eyes intent, first on Anakin and then on his own master. Micah didn’t smile, but his eyebrows – and the feeling of his aura – did.

 _~The start of a 'terrifying friendship,' indeed,~_ Qui-Gon's mind-voice felt rather ironic, and Obi-Wan couldn’t decide whether to sigh or groan. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Mic,” Qui-Gon said out loud.

“You’re no fun,” Micah grumbled, but his eyes gleamed. “It’s quite simple: Depa is going to buy them.”

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped.

“ _Buy_ them?” Qui-Gon echoed. “With what monies? You're telling me the Council actually _approved_ that?”

Micah crossed his arms over his chest, the brown folds of his cloak sleeves shifting as he did.

“Micah,” Qui-Gon said.

“He can't tell you that because it wouldn't be true,” Depa said, a shade too solemnly for the sparkle in her eyes.

“Sure it is,” Micah retorted. “They're my credits, I'm on the Council, I approved it.”

“Mic,” Qui-Gon breathed, his shock clear through the training bond. “What have you done?”

Micah regarded him calmly, the corners of his mouth just barely lifting. “What needed to be done, Qui-Gon, that's all. That stipend's just been sitting all these years. I forget it's there, it's not like I have a use for it. Until now. It became obvious to me that this is the reason I have it. I onl – ”

He paused as Anakin moved, slipping down from his chair and going to stand in front of Micah. Anakin's aura shone, so bright with joy that he might not have been shielding at all. An utterly Force-blind being probably could have seen the glow.

He gripped his elbows and bowed, deep and slow and perfectly correct, the gesture one made to a most respected Jedi elder. When he straightened, his eyes were bright. “Master Micah, I … ” A hard swallow; an adult firming of the child's mouth. “ _Thank you._ ”

Micah's face softened. “I'm doing what the Force Wills and what any decent sentient would do, Anakin; no thanks are necessary.”

“Well, I'm thanking you anyway,” Anakin replied shakily and stepped in close, reaching up.

Micah's expression flashed from startled through bemused and into touched, even as his arms went around Anakin in return. “You're welcome. I only hope that what we've – what I've brought will be enough.”

“It will be,” Obi-Wan said, finally finding his own voice. Half-dizzy with joy – his own, Anakin's, Qui-Gon's, all of it swamping the bonds because evidently nobody was shielding worth a damn. The _rightness_ of this in the Force was unmistakable. “Added to what we've come up with here, it will be enough.”

 

* * *

 


	2. Breaking Chains

 

 

 

Micah's “cunning plan” was working so well that Obi-Wan couldn't help but be worried. Even with the flow of the Force whispering of calm, the tension in the junk shop was sealant-thick.

Depa Billaba should have been a live stage actress. She swept into Watto's shop dressed like quality on a mission, all slender hauteur and entitled condescension. Micah and Garen attended her, several steps behind, wearing enough synthleather and metal to convince any and every being of their hired menace.

Her trusted employee had met a woman here, a slave, who it seemed would do quite well for her household for “her lady's” personal attendant, and she was authorized to offer a generous sum. And for the child as well – a boy, yes? – because “her lady” had no wish to break up a family. They should conduct business, and promptly, as she had no desire to stay on this world a moment longer than necessary. She named a price, Watto projected insult, and the game began.

Shmi stood frozen by the far edge of the work counter, Anakin at her hip. Hopefully reassured by Micah hulking at Depa's back, but they hadn't warned her, Anakin confident that her reactions would be better if taken by surprise. Qui-Gon was nowhere in sight and Depa played on that when Watto remembered him in Micah's company – a former employee they had no desire to renew acquaintance with.

Even with the money he'd recently lost gambling, Watto's deeply-buried decency chose then to try and rear its head, because how did he know that this unknown new owner would treat his Shmi alright?

The Force moving him, Obi-Wan protested, managing to say that he wanted to free Shmi and Anakin and reminding Watto that he'd just lost far too much money gambling recently, he owed Gardulla the Hutt and wasn't that why Ben and Anakin were working on those pod engines? So Ani could win back Watto’s money?

Avarice and greed won. They were his property, snapped Watto, and he could do karking well whatever he wanted with them. Including taking a deal that would not only pay his gambling debt but score enough profit to make the loss of labor and Anakin's mechanical talents worth the trouble. “Twenty-three.”

“I think not,” Depa said. “Eighteen-five.”

“Don’t be insulting, fem. Twenty-two.”

“Now who is insulting? Nineteen-five, and I wish to see their controllers first.”

“Twenty-one,” Watto said, his orange eyes glinting. “And of course I got their controllers, safe place nobody gets to but me.”

“I wish to see them, first, and I will … consider … twenty,” Depa said, grudgingly, crossing her arms over her chest in note-perfect imitation of at least three senators Obi-Wan could think of. Micah leaned to whisper in her ear. “I know that,” she snapped, and sniffed, and ignored him. “Well?” she said, eyeing Watto.

Who eyed her back, snout twitching.

 _~That’s it,_ _that’s it,_ _~_ Anakin whispered in Obi-Wan’s mind. _~He thinks she’s on the back foot now, c’mon, Watto, come on … ~_

“Twen-ty,” said Watto. “And I wanna see yer money. Wait right there; don’t move anything.” Wings a blur, the Toydarian flew up and disappeared into the bell-shaped nest area above the shop.

Anakin’s tension buzzing through him, Obi-Wan met Shmi’s eyes: wide and dark with emotion she was throttling back, a lifetime of crushed dreams making it hard, so painfully hard to hope –

_~Obi-Wan?~_

Qui-Gon. Back at the Skywalkers' hovel, out of the loop and hating it, concerned. Anxious? Not his master, no, surely not – _~Almost,_ _Master_ _, almost – ~_

“Here.” Watto thumped his overweight self down on the edge of the counter, two small, narrow devices in his hands. “Ah-ah, careful,” he coughed as Depa stepped closer, “careful. Don’t make me twitch.”

Depa stared down her nose at him, and Anakin swore viciously in Obi-Wan's mind, nearly making _him_ twitch. Oh, lovely, the headache had arrived.

“It's a joke, relax,” Watto said, sniggering. “No sense of humor, you Humans.”

Depa's mouth twisted, and she turned to Micah and tilted her head. Micah obediently stepped forward as well and peered at the devices, and nodded at Depa.

 _~Kark, does he even know what the things look like?_ ~

 _~That's them, Obi-Wan._ _~_ Anakin's sending was gravel-edged, jittery agitation escaping his efforts to contain it. _~Master Qui-Gon showed me mine, 'last time.' That, I'll never forget.~_

“Twenty,” Watto said, clearly sensing victory.

Depa's nod looked stiff enough to hurt her neck. “Done.”

Watto smiling was a disturbing sight at best. “Done.”

 _~_ _ **YES!!**_ ~ Anakin's jubilant shout erupted like lightning through the Force.

Obi-Wan winced and closed his eyes as it ricocheted inside his own skull, and ducked his face because otherwise he surely would give the entire game away.

 _~We've won, Qui-Gon,~_ he sent, and the hard wave of relief from the other man had Obi-Wan drawing on the Force to keep his knees locked.

“Now,” Watto said, “let's see your money.”

 _Grossol_ -bought credits in high-denomination Wupiupi chits clinked onto the counter, augmented by what Micah had brought, blessedly in ChoMar because Micah had done his homework.

Watto looked like he'd found an actual religion, which possibly wasn't far from the truth.

Depa took the controllers with a quite real disdain and handed them to Micah, who looked them over carefully before slipping them into his vest pockets. Garen still watched the proceedings from where Micah had obviously put him, closer to the doorway, wearing the impassive face he had since the start of negotiations, the one that clashed violently with the disgust he was bleeding off in bursts into the Force.

“Good, all there,” Watto said finally. “Nice doing business with ya. You can take them now,” he said gruffly, not looking at Shmi or Anakin, eyes only for the credits on the counter. “Get their stuff outta their house if you want it, but nothing outta here, everything in this shop belongs to me.”

A moment of silence, then –

“That's it?” Shmi's voice trembled. Shmi never trembled. “Just – like that?”

Watto looked at her like he'd already forgotten she was there. “Whadaya want, tears? Business deal, Shmi, you understand, right? You been good, you and Ani been useful, but this is business.” He shifted, as if he might flutter closer. “You – ”

“This is touching, but it's time to go,” Depa broke in, cool and even. “Direct us to your dwelling, Shmi, that we may collect your and Anakin's – belongings, and depart this planet.”

Shmi turned to her, back straight, composed, dark eyes wide in a face white beneath her tan. “Master,” she said, and bowed her head. The tremble was fainter but still there. “If you will be pleased to follow me?”

Depa's hand went out in the near-universal gesture for “lead on,” and Shmi did, heading for the entrance with Anakin at her side, passing Micah and Garen without stopping.

Obi-Wan watched them both leave Watto's shop for what would be, Force Willing, the very last time.

 _~They're on their way to you, Qui-Gon,~_ he sent, chest tight, head throbbing. _~Shmi is leading them all home.~_

 _~And you?_ ~

 _~As soon as I can._ ~

 _~Quickly, dear one,~_ and Obi-Wan's disobedient heart skipped at the endearment. _~I want to take you home, to the Temple, as soon as we can lift._ ~

Force and stars and little gods above, but he'd waited most of his life to hear that, and half of that as nothing more than a sweetsmoke dream. _~Soon as I can,~_ he sent again, swallowing hard, and shielded the bond, tight-tight now, and turned to finish the last act of the play.

“How could you?!” he snarled at Watto.

The Toydarian jerked away from the love-fest he was having with his new semi-fortune. “What?”

“You sold her! You sold them both!!” Obi-Wan snarled again, letting go, letting his disgust and yes, his anger out – at Watto, at the Hutts, at this sandy hell of a planet, at everything that perpetuated this utter abomination, that allowed – encouraged – slavery to ruin and destroy. _“I wanted to free them!!”_

From out of nowhere Watto held a blaster on him, a reminder that whatever the Toydarian was now, he had once been a soldier. “And I wanted a proper nest and a mate and I ain't gonna get 'em, either, how about that? Life's _shaavit_ , Ben, ya fly or ya fall. You'll find another bed.”

“That's not it!” Obi-Wan snapped. The headache pulsed like a live thing, syncing with his heartbeat, pounding behind his eyes. “They're different, Watto! They care! They helped me when nobody else gave a damn, I wanted to help them!”

Watto snorted. “Yeah, I'll put ya up for a Good Citizen's Award. Deal, kiddo. If yer really off the spice, you might find some work, yer good with the mechanicals and all. Yer family might even take ya back now if yer clean, although what I heard about yer sire?” An ugly chuckle. “I wouldn't go back without a blaster.”

Family.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes.

Family. Sire. Father. His – Ben's father. His father. ( – voices, calling – ) His brother. Anakin – no? ( – voices … Ani?) Owen. Little Owen, little farmer, little brother tagging along, hugging, laughing ( – Qui-Gon, Qui – ) round face and big smile just like, like his father. Like Cliegg.

Cliegg Lars.

His father.

“Hey. Hey. If yer gonna do that human regurgitating thing, do it outside, yeah? Ben?”

“Not going to be sick,” Obi-Wan said through his teeth. Which might be a lie. But it was entirely possible that if he moved wrong, his head would explode.

“Sure. Freight-load of spice just rotted yer brain, that's all.” But kriff it if Watto didn't actually sound a little bit concerned.

Breathe. Center. Breathe through the pain. Give it to the Force. Force-light, Force-flow around, flow through, pain only just a moment in the body, this body luminous

breathe

breathe

When he opened his eyes a crack, the world outlined in too-sharp color, beige stabbing reflected light, spectrum wavering around the edges of his vision.

But he could see and he could stand from where he'd some-when fallen to his knees, and he could almost think and he could ignore the pudgy blue smear of Toydarian and he could   walk

out

   into

sunlight sting grit blowing, blowing,   stink of sand    decay    death

     walk out of the shop into the street toward home, what was home had been home, home where Anakin and Shmi were and Qui-Gon,

Qui-Gon    Qui, Master    I'm coming now, Ani

     Qui-Gon, beloved

   vision blurred doesn't matter the Force is around me in me     Force guides the steps     the Force guides me home

home

    Qui-Gon

 

 

* * *

 


	3. Through The Knothole Backwards

 

 

 

Anakin charged fearlessly through Mos Espa's dizzying maze of streets, Qui-Gon hard on his heels. They weren't Force-enhanced running but the next damn thing to it, Qui-Gon's long stride keeping up with Anakin's speed.

“This way, shortcut!” Anakin shouted, jigging left into a nasty-looking alley.

Qui-Gon's bond to Obi-Wan – both their bonds to Obi-Wan, Anakin had said – was a beacon, a nauseous, writhing mass of pain, sloshing like acid between coherence and unconsciousness but leading them right to its source.

They skidded around another corner, a drunken angle into yet another even smaller, stinking passageway and –

There.

They reached Obi-Wan just as he went to his knees in the sand, and Qui-Gon caught him before he could crack his skull on the wall he'd been hugging. “Obi-Wan.”

“Mahster.” Barely a breath, accent much too strong. “Ahni?”

“'m here, Ben,” Anakin said, grabbing one of Obi-Wan's hands in both of his as Qui-Gon braced Obi-Wan upright. Obi-Wan's head lolled back against Qui-Gon's shoulder, eyes squeezed closed, copper hair darkened with sweat. “Headache? Visions?”

“Yes. No, not – ” Obi-Wan breathed in small pants as if he couldn't fill his lungs, shivering in Qui-Gon's arms, and the scent of him told Qui-Gon that the younger man had already lost the battle with nausea. “Not like – that. Backward.”

“Visions?” Qui-Gon asked.

Anakin stared at him. “You don't know about those?”

“He never had them in any dreams we shared,” Qui-Gon said, disturbed. “Some Foresight, yes, but not Visions.”

“If your training stuff was only the good memories, then yeah, that makes sense.”

“They were prescient?”

“I – I think so? I know they hurt.” Anakin chewed on his lip. “But he'd never say, just that they'd fade in time, 'cause dreams did.” His jaw hardened to something of the adult he was in truth.

That sounded eerily like what several of Qui-Gon's fellow Masters had told him, after they'd found out about the training dreams. And before them, worse, it was something Qui-Gon himself might well have said. His own jaw set at that thought.

“Ahni.” Obi-Wan's eyes slitted open. “ … sorry.”

“Quiet, you,” Anakin said, gentle voice at odds with the words. “We've done that, 'member? Over 'n forgiven.”

Obi-Wan nodded faintly, and swallowed. “Up,” he whispered. “We need – to go.”

''Can you walk?” Anakin asked, peering hard at his face.

“O' course,” Obi-Wan husked, projecting offense, and shifted to get up. And shut his eyes and slumped back against Qui-Gon's body. Qui-Gon braced him again with an arm behind his shoulders. “In – a moment.”

“So you can't.”

“ … Ahnakin.”

And that was his padawan to the life. Qui-Gon snorted. “He doesn't have to,” he said, and slipped his other arm beneath Obi-Wan's knees and rose quickly to his feet, ignoring both Obi-Wan's half-coherent protest and the reflected throb of his student's pain. “Lead on the shortest way home, Ani.”

 

*

 

Shmi was right there waiting when Qui-Gon ducked under the doorframe and into the hovel. “On his bed,” she said briskly, “nothing's been moved onto it.”

“I c'n walk,” Obi-Wan insisted.

Qui-Gon ignored that as he had the earlier protests and carried Obi-Wan through, depositing him on the thin mattress. His padawan's voice was stronger and the pain leaking through their bond was a little less: both good signs, but Qui-Gon was taking no chances until they had to be taken.

Obi-Wan immediately pushed himself upright and looked to continue right off the mattress, except that Shmi nudged Qui-Gon aside and stepped directly in front of Obi-Wan. “Ben,” she said, catching his shoulders in both hands.

Obi-Wan stilled.

Shmi tipped his chin up so she could look into his eyes. Heedless of the sweat sheening his face, she pressed the back of her hand and then her own cheek against his forehead, diagnostic gestures common to most every parent and half the healers Qui-Gon had ever known. And did – something.

A faint ripple in the Force.

Qui-Gon blinked.

“Shmi, 'm fine,” Obi-Wan husked out.

Anakin's snort only beat Qui-Gon's by a half-second or so.

“You're not,” Shmi said firmly.

“Shmi.”

Anakin's mother eyed him, her eyebrows rising.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth – and closed it again, a faint upward twitch pulling at the corners. Anakin, who had hopped up onto the mattress beside him, gave him a look of approval.

Shmi nodded. “But you are better, and that's probably going to have to do.”

How did she know that?

“What happened?” Shmi asked, wiping Obi-Wan's face gently with a cloth she'd produced from somewhere. “It shouldn't be the spice, still?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, slow and careful; more strands of hair escaped the tie-back and swung into his face. “No. Or I don't – think so, the withdrawal – never felt like this, 'xactly. It … ” He rubbed at one eyebrow.

“Visions of the future?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan squinted at him. His padawan generally looked healthier these days, more muscle beneath his flesh and his cheekbones less blade-like. But right now the skin beneath his eyes was bruised, shading his irises a nasty, washed-out gray, and the rest of him was too pale.

“Or of the past?” Qui-Gon continued. “You said back – ”

“ – backward,” Obi-Wan finished the word with him. “Yes. But I think 's not – visions, p'rhaps, but – memories.” That familiar wrinkle deepened between the copper-blond eyebrows.

“Memories?” Depa's voice.

Qui-Gon turned his head and saw that she and Micah had crowded through the doorway, with Garen's taller gangle behind them both.

“'ve got a – lot of memories,” Obi-Wan said, blackly amused, and Qui-Gon was betting on that as the understatement of the Standard month. “But I don' remember – all of them, yet, and some of them I don't think I've actually – had.” And then he took a sharp breath and shut his eyes, and Qui-Gon nearly winced himself as the pain in the bond spiked upward again.

“Padawan Kenobi – ”

“No, Masters Jedi,” Shmi said, “that's enough. If you want him to travel, he needs to not-think for a while, until this subsides.”

No disrespect in her voice, Qui-Gon noted, but no give, either. Interesting.

“Ben, we're ready to go,” Shmi went on, rubbing Obi-Wan's shoulder. “What do you wish to take?”

“Other than – those two _grossols_ we saved? Just the – two of you, 's all that’s important.” Obi-Wan gave her a small smile, and nudged Anakin's shoulder where the boy had leaned into him.

Shmi kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Can you help him?” she asked, looking up at Qui-Gon.

If he said he'd try, there'd be at least three Masters in the room to raise an eyebrow at him, so Qui-Gon merely nodded and exchanged places with her.

“Close your eyes.” Qui-Gon stroked errant copper strands out of Obi-Wan's eyes and ghosted a touch down the right-side braid, then settled fingertips at his padawan's temples, cupping his head. Obi-Wan's hair felt gritty.

Wishing that he’d had more practice at what he was going to do would be a waste of intent and energy, so Qui-Gon didn’t bother. That he'd pursued learning this skill at all had been a purely Force-born impulse and one he'd not understood at the time. But follow the impulse he had; it had been something else to make productive use of his “downtime” in the Temple.

Besides, the expression on Master Healer Sudaro's face when Qui-Gon had asked to be taught? Had been one for the ages.

_~Qui-Gon?_ ~ Faintly.

_~I'm going to dull_ _those pain receptors_ _somewhat_ _, enough for you to function_ _until we_ _get aboard ship,~_ Qui-Gon sent, beginning to suit deed to word/thought. Thinning his own shields to get closer felt like leaning into a grater, but it was necessary to find the areas he needed to touch. _~It will feel odd, muffled. It won't last long, but long enough for you to get settled and drop into a healing trance. Tell me when you feel it.~_

_~Oh? Oh. Ooh … ~_ Obi-Wan's mental voice began to change timbre as Qui-Gon worked, slowly and very carefully. This was a delicate and very Healer-specific skill, seldom used as there were multitudes of far quicker and more effective methods of pain relief available. On any civilized planet, anyway. If Qui-Gon had been any less than brilliantly strong in the Living Force, there would never have been the least consideration of teaching him any of this, the Will of the Force or no.

_~Oh … my. Yes, I … that's good, tha's – better. Strange … but better.~_

Better indeed, as the pain pressing against Qui-Gon's own mind lightened dramatically. Next to Obi-Wan, Anakin let out a sigh of relief as well.

Obi-Wan's lashes fluttered up, slowly. The pain-grooves around his eyes were easing but his pupils were blown, black almost swallowing the blue-gray. “You aren't … weren't … a healer, … b’fore. When'd … you learn … this?”

Ah. _Shaavit_.

Well, pain and euphoria _were_ chemically related, in Humans anyway. Master Sudaro was no doubt going to have a few pointed words to say about his effort, but high was certainly better than headache, on Qui-Gon’s padd.

“I am still not, past the usual field skills,” Qui-Gon said, easing his hands away from Obi-Wan's skin. His fingertips tingled. He ignored them. “But I picked up some few other things over the last years, while I had rather a lot of time in-Temple.”

Obi-Wan blinked slowly at him. _~In-Temple._ ~

_~_ _Great, so_ _why didn't you_ _help him_ _sooner?_ ~

_That_ faint but distinct sending was not Obi-Wan's. In fact, that grumbly, male, _adult_ voice wasn't one Qui-Gon had ever heard before.

Or was it?

He focused on the not-child child at his padawan's elbow. _~Anakin?_ ~

Sky-blue eyes jerked up to his. _~ … Master Qui-Gon?~_

_~Oh, good,~_ Obi-Wan drawled. _~'Bout time … you met; wh_ _'_ _r_ _'_ _'_ _r my … manners? Qui-Gon Jinn, A_ _h-_ _nakin Skywalker._ _~_

Anakin's eyes were wide. _~But –_ _ **we**_ _don't have a bond!_ _D_ _o we?~_

_~No, we don't,~_ Qui-Gon said. There was no new shining thread in his mind. That his link with Obi-Wan was actually verbal, as his link with his first padawan had been, was rare enough; most training bonds never approached that level. So this? This was disconcerting, to say the least. _~But we both_ _of us_ _do with Obi-Wan.~_

_~And we're –_ _wait._ _ **Through**_ _him?_ _~_ Anakin turned the startled look up at Obi-Wan.

_~Mmm._ _~_ Obi-Wan's eyebrows twitched. _~_ _Ti-ckles.~_

_~But that's a Healer technique; Senior Master Healers, at that!~_

“Yes, I know,” Qui-Gon murmured. But they weren’t the only ones.

Shmi crowded in next to him, peering into Obi-Wan's face. “He looks better, he's hurting less, but it's a bit like he’s – spurged?”

“No, ’s not – like that,” Obi-Wan objected, enunciating like a drunk who's determined not to be. “I c’n – can – think, and I can move. And we need – to move.”

“We do. Watto will come here to see what's left that he can sell.” Shmi took Anakin under the arms and swung him off the bed as Qui-Gon got Obi-Wan under the arms as well and helped him stand. Definitely more muscle on his student's frame now, he noted clinically.

“And – t' – to – make sure that – I, and Qui-Gon, leave. Sooner – than later.” Obi-Wan put a hand on the wall by the bed and straightened.

“He did seem the type,” Micah put in, dryly. Qui-Gon had nearly forgotten he was there. “I’ve got your pack, Qui-Gon, if you’ll stay by Obi-Wan. Depa and Garen have the couple of mechanicals that Anakin wants to take and Shmi has everything else.”

“I can walk.” Obi-Wan’s tone managed indignant, but Qui-Gon flashed suddenly on that late-night conversation of a few nights ago, and Shmi’s voice: _he doesn’t believe he deserves …_ A light touch to the bond – his padawan’s shields  at that moment were fragile at best.

“You, Padawan Kenobi, are higher than three atmospheres right now so you’ll just accept the help, in silence if not in dignity,” Micah said in a voice that brooked no argument. “Depa, you’re ready? Garen, let’s go.”

“Ani and I will come last,” Shmi said.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan muttered.

“And Qui,” Micah touched his elbow lightly as they moved past, “help him shield. He’s not quite broadcasting, but he’s hard to miss.”

His suspicions confirmed, Qui-Gon’s mouth thinned.

_~_ _Perhaps_ _I_ _am_ _– not fine._ ~

Anakin snorted.

 

*

 

“Qui?”

Qui-Gon glanced over. His padawan had been mostly quiet on the walk to the docking bay and the _Swiftstar_ , but odds were it was due more to conserving energy than to Micah’s admonition. Qui-Gon would have carried the man again except that the very suggestion had gotten him a look caustic enough to strip paint. “Ben?”

Obi-Wan squinted up at him. His pain level had been creeping up; Qui-Gon was feeling it against his own shields, but he knew he didn’t dare a repeat of his little trick so soon unless the situation became quite dire. Tweaking another being's nerves was never something to be done lightly.

Nor had there been any more sendings from Anakin; Qui-Gon suspected that channel had been closed, by pain if by nothing else. That it had been open _at all_ was disturbing; yet another mystery about his padawan that needed solving, and sooner than later.

“I need to – make a stop b'fore we leave,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

“A stop?”

“No, a – ” Obi-Wan pursed his mouth, visibly seeking words. “Side trip, before – we leave. The planet, I mean.”

“More crystals?”

“No.” Obi-Wan shook his head, and immediately looked like he regretted it. That same stubborn lock of hair had worked loose again, hanging in front of his ear in counterpoint to the braid behind it and both of them still damp with sweat, like tarnished copper. “I – need to see my father.”

For a moment, the very term didn’t compute. “Your _father?_ ” Qui-Gon echoed. “Cliegg Lars? Why? I thought he had – ‘instructed’ you not to return.”

“He did. But – ’s important, somehow. There’s s'm'thing – something – to do – with the memories. With this – ” A gesture indicated both the headache itself and Obi-Wan's frustration with it. “I don’t know – why, but I need to, to see him. See them. My – family. He and my – brother.”

It didn't make sense, and something about the word “family” drew a cool finger down Qui-Gon's spine, yet the feel of the Force was clear. “Do you know where?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said.

“All right.”

It was another minute or two of dusty walking before Qui-Gon realized Obi-Wan was squinting at him again, sideways. “What?”

“No arguments?”

“I've spent my life trusting the Force, whether it's clear why I should or no. It took years, but it led me to you. Its guidance brought us together, and I learned to trust you when I couldn’t even touch you. Why would I stop trusting either of you now?”

Even pain-limned as it was, the surge of emotion through the bond – happiness and something more, something that Qui-Gon would not, could not dare to believe, not now, not yet – was nevertheless worth all the well-meaning pity and ill-concealed disbelief that he'd been subjected to for the last eight years.

_~I hope, someday, that you will consider me to have – been worth_ _both_ _your trust and the_ _wait, Master._ ~

_~_ _You are_ _, Padawan_ _._ ~ Qui-Gon cupped his hand beneath Obi-Wan's elbow as a stumble threatened. It might well take another eight years or more, he suspected, to grow tired of the wonderful reality both of Obi-Wan's Force-presence, _deep-root sun-warm-sparkle,_ and of _touch_ , of the physicality of Obi-Wan's solid, breathing self. _~You already are._ _~_

 

* * *


	4. Confronting A Different past

 

 

 

“This place is where, again?”

“North-east of Mos Eisley, about a day – and a half, by landspeeder.”

“Yeah, that’s precise,” Garen said, his mouth pursed, and shot a sideways glance at Obi-Wan. “All right, let’s see what we can do with that.”

“I have every faith in your navigation abilities, Padawan,” Micah said from behind Garen’s seat.

“Thanks, Master. Have you got any coordinates at all?” Garen asked, looking at Obi-Wan again, who sat, pale but straight-backed, in the co-pilot's chair.

“I do. If I may?” Obi-Wan asked, not yet reaching for the naviscreen.

At the back of the cockpit, Qui-Gon allowed himself a nod as Garen gestured in the affirmative. Definitely the right tack to take with Padawan-Pilot Muln.

A generally good-natured being was Garen Muln these days. The Order was fortunate that Micah had seen past the hash-up that had been Garen’s Initiate years, had been Force-led to take on a sullen, angry (frustrated, frightened) boy and find the gem of a young Jedi who'd lain buried within.

Garen had repaid Micah with fierce devotion, both to the task of mastering himself and becoming a Knight and to the Combat Master’s person as well, all of it smoothing out into a fine Senior Padawan and a genial, pleasant young man whom Qui-Gon genuinely liked. The earlier lapse was disappointing to Micah, certainly, but didn’t worry Qui-Gon himself over-much. The outburst had had concern at its heart, not malice, and frankly Qui-Gon would take Garen’s brutal honesty over the “serenity” of some of his fellow Masters any day.

“I can work with that,” Garen said, eyeing the information Obi-Wan had entered, and flicked on the ship’s internal comm. “All right, everybody, this is your pilot. Find a seat, please, we’re lifting in two minutes. Next stop: middle of nowhere, Tatooine.”

“Literally,” Anakin piped up, peering at the display from where he stood, hard against Obi-Wan’s side, hands knotted firmly into Obi-Wan’s blast-webbing and Obi-Wan’s arm securely across his back.

“You can read that, huh?” Garen spared him a curious glance.

“Uh-huh. I’m a pilot, too.”

“Really. You're pretty young, and in your – situation, too.”

“Never too early,” Anakin said cheerfully, and Qui-Gon rolled his eyes because he'd gotten to know _that_ particular tone of voice. “I build stuff too. I'm building my mom a droid, to help her out.”

“Are you, now? That's pretty complex.”

“Nah, pod engines are harder.”

“Pod engines? What for?”

“So I can race 'em, of course,” Anakin said like it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “What else would I do with them?”

Garen choked on air.

Qui-Gon sympathized. His own reaction on first hearing that story had been rather worse. But then, _Garen_ hadn't been the one betting on a nine-year-old child to win a race that routinely killed beings twice that age and more. And he would like to say that he doubted the sanity of that other Master Jinn, but the trouble was, given that same situation: would he himself have done differently?

It wasn't a comfortable thought.

 

*

 

Given the _Swiftstar's_ capacities and those of its pilot, it took little time to reach the general area Obi-Wan had indicated, and less to narrow it down.

“Scanners show a couple of potentials, spots that look like habitation, but I'm betting this one,” Garen said, pointing a finger at the readings. “Shows a group of narrow metallics circled around a central compound of some kind. Too regular to be natural; on this planet, anyway.”

“Vaporators,” Obi-Wan said, “in concentric rings – around the house. Easiest configuration to defend. Did – their research when they set up out here.”

“Defend from what?” Garen asked.

“Sandpeople, mostly,” Anakin said. “They hate anybody who's not them.”

“'Hate' is a bit strong, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said.

“No it's not.” Anakin's voice held little emotion but the ripple in the Force said otherwise. He and Obi-Wan exchanged a look Qui-Gon couldn't parse.

 _~Is there a story here?_ ~ Qui-Gon asked gently.

 _~There is, and_ _an ugly one_ _. The Sandpeople – Tusken Raiders – killed someone –_ _very_ _dear to him._ _It was a – tipping point, although I didn't know that,_ _any of it,_ _until years afterward._ ~

Which led to questions that needed answers but not at the moment; they were circling in to the area of the compound.

“That's definitely it, Padawan Muln,” Obi-Wan said. “If you don't mind, land – a ways off from the dome. There are – a number of underground chambers, and my – father – gets nervous about too much weight on the surface.”

That got another look from Garen. He held his tongue this time, although the Force seemed to vibrate a moment with the effort before Garen shielded it away.

Instead, he glared disapproval at Anakin, where the boy still had both hands in Obi-Wan's webbing. “You'll strap in next time, Anakin, period, until we're into hyperspace – clear? No injuries on my watch.”

“Yessir,” Anakin said, with no hint of argument. He was only there because that's where Obi-Wan was, Qui-Gon knew. While they were navigating Tatooine space, it was Anakin's and Obi-Wan's show; Qui-Gon himself wouldn't be much help.

Once that was over, though – _~You will be_ _lying_ _down promptly, Obi-Wan.~_

 _~Sending me to my room?_ ~ Tired mischief, laced with warmth and the renewed throb of the headache. Obi-Wan was functioning past it, though, apparently by sheer willpower.

_~If that's what it takes. I want you rested and pain-free as soon as possible, and certainly by the time we reach the Temple.~_

_~Pain-free is a goal – I can get behind._ ~

“We're down,” Garen said, the landing so smooth Qui-Gon hadn't really felt it. “So, out to meet the locals?”

“Oh, I suspect the locals will be – out to meet us,” Obi-Wan said.

 

*

 

He wasn't wrong.

The man who met them roughly half-way might have worn a kind face once upon a time, years ago. Narrow-eyed and fair-skinned beneath his tan, he moved with sure knowledge of the use of the weapons he wore in plain sight.  A shock of sun-bleached brown hair topped the grim expression, and his feelings – what Qui-Gon could sense of them – were a tangled, muddled mass. Love, buried deep beneath sorrow and anger and an old, exhausted numbness.

The teenaged boy with him was easier to read: defiance and confusion and buried hope, and hands clenched on a long-necked rifle.

“I told you not to come back here,” the man said, cold and clear.

Obi-Wan was a pace ahead of Qui-Gon and Anakin, who had utterly refused to stay in the shuttle. His padawan stood straight-backed and unaided; clinging to serenity, Qui-Gon sensed, with all the tenacity of a mynock to a starship. “Hello, Father.”

Cliegg Lars didn't move. “But here you are anyway. With company, yet. You never did listen worth a damn. What do you want, Ben?”

“To talk to you,” Obi-Wan said.

“You're talking.”

“I – wanted to see you again, you and Owen.”

“Yeah? Well, you're seeing us, too. You can go now.”

A small movement, suppressed, from the boy at Lars' side.

“Father, I – I wanted to talk to you, both of you, again, before I leave, to – ”

A waved hand cut him off.

“Talk?” Cliegg sighed. “Ben, I talked to you 'till the day you chose to leave. For sixteen years I talked to you, 'til I was blue in the face, hoping, every day, that you'd – ” He shook his head and the hint of softness vanished. “There's nothing left to say. You can go now, you and your – friends.”

A tiny shift of Obi-Wan's shoulders. “They're Jedi, Father. I wanted – to let you know that I'm leaving Tatooine, going – with them.”

That won a different reaction.

“ _Jedi_ ,” Cliegg said, sharply, and snorted. “So. The 'guardians of the Republic.' Comes back to that, does it?” He shook his head. “Just as well. The worst mistake we ever made was not letting them have you twenty years ago. Your mother said you should go, but I said no: you were _my son_ and no wizard would have the raising of you.” Another snort. “Oh, was I wrong.”

He was hearing this, Qui-Gon knew he was, but not quite believing it. Obi-Wan was utterly still.

“After Aika died, there was nothing I could do with you.” Cliegg's voice was hard and flat. “You were like your mother, bless her. Neither of you ever belonged here.”

A quick jerk of his head, and faded blue eyes zeroed in on Qui-Gon. “He's all yours, wizard – I shake him from my hands. And I knew what you were before he said it, you can't hide that. You're welcome to him. Now turn around, all of you, and walk back to that fancy ship and lift off my farm.”

A new thread in the emotional morass, but Qui-Gon couldn't catch it. Had Obi-Wan?

From the tension in the Force and Obi-Wan's posture, no. If his student's shoulders tightened any more, his spine would snap. “The Force – be with you, Father, you and Owen both.”

 

The barest hint of a catch marred Obi-Wan's stride on the way back, but nothing else to show the pain, physical and emotional, that Qui-Gon felt leaking through the bond, until Obi-Wan was up the _Swiftstar's_ ramp and inside. There he sank onto the first available flat surface, one of the jump-seats by the hatch, and closed his eyes.

Qui-Gon looked at Micah and Depa, and Garen and Shmi, all of them clustered by the hatch. They'd all heard the conversation through the comm unit at Qui-Gon's waist, which he'd kept open in case of sudden disaster.

Now Shmi joined her son at Obi-Wan's side, leaving Qui-Gon facing his fellow Masters and one appalled Senior Padawan.

“Garen,” Micah said quietly, over the hum of the closing door. “I think it's time to go.”

“More than, Master.” Garen's expression was controlled as proper but beneath that, Qui-Gon sensed something of a change. A reevaluation, perhaps, where the “impossible” new padawan was concerned. “We'll be off the ground in five,” he added, and started for the cockpit.

Obi-Wan was moving too, slowly, toward the cabins, Anakin at his side and Shmi's arm around his waist. Qui-Gon stepped to follow, before Depa's voice stopped him.

“Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon looked at her.

“He is damaged, Qui-Gon,” she said, low-voiced.

“He is,” Qui-Gon agreed, “and precisely how and to what extent, we do not yet completely know. But he is not broken.”

“No. No, that he is not.” Depa's gaze turned and Qui-Gon's followed, down the corridor where Obi-Wan and both Skywalkers were just turning into the medbay alcove, before she looked back at Qui-Gon. “But whatever he is, he _is_ Jedi. That much is clear, and so I shall be saying.”

Joy and relief ran through him and he felt them fully, before releasing them to the Force. “Thank you, Master Billaba.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. “Do you know, it's still occasionally odd to hear you call me that? The Force is quite clear on this, Qui-Gon. But it's not going to help Mace much, though.”

Qui-Gon returned her half-smile. “Headaches?”

“Yes,” she said, flatly, and Qui-Gon sobered completely. “It won't surprise you, I suspect, that they began with a burst about a month before you left.”

“When my dreams changed.” Marking when Obi-Wan and Anakin had “awoken” here.

Depa nodded. “Obi-Wan and the boy are dangerous,” she said, and something coiled uneasily in Qui-Gon's belly. “Dangerous and powerful: to what extent we must see, and he will have to consent to open himself fully before the Council. The Force moves around them, whispers of them, especially Anakin, in ways I have never felt before, and I believe will take much meditation to begin to understand. But I do know that they belong with us. They certainly cannot be permitted to be anywhere else.”

 

*

 

 


	5. For Some Value Of Freedom

 

 

Qui-Gon stepped into the medbay in time to see Anakin practically submerged in the bay's main storage locker, quite obviously on a mission. Qui-Gon quelled the immediate urge to offer help, and propped himself in the doorway to watch instead.

The next moment, Anakin made a triumphant sound and backed out into the open. His hair shone beacon-gold in the artificial light as he held up a hypopress spray injector in one hand and a cartridge in the other. “I knew they had to be carrying this stuff, at least! But they’re not well-stocked and it's all in the wrong place.”

Yet another reminder, not that Qui-Gon needed any more, that this youngling was not what he seemed.

“Peacetime footing. And do you mean – they’re not yet using that better system you – helped devise? Some fifteen years from now? For shame,” Obi-Wan said from his seat on the med-bunk. Shmi sat to one side of him, her hand on his back. The tiny room smelled like all medbays did, of sterile packaging and pain, old and new. Qui-Gon disliked them.

“Yeah, yeah.” Anakin fit cartridge to injector without pause, like it was something he’d done many times before. “Hold still.”

“You should save this – for someone who truly needs it,” Obi-Wan said as the boy pressed the injector against his arm.

“You should hush.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes met Qui-Gon’s, one brow lifted in a gesture somewhere between “Do you see what I put up with?” and “Help?” before he looked back at Anakin. “Anakin, I'm fine.”

Anakin pulled the cartridge and popped it into the ‘cycler and neatly stored the empty injector away before he turned back to Obi-Wan and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, sometimes I really wanna have the word ‘fine’ surgically removed outta your vocabulary.”

There looked to be another comeback hovering there on Obi-Wan’s tongue, but something stilled it. Perhaps the fatigue scored in lines around those expressive blue-gray eyes. “You should – locate quarters for your mother, so she might – lie down. It’s been an eventful day.”

Anakin’s face did something swift, complicated and conflicted.

Shmi did look tired, actually, and a little dazed and utterly determined not to give in to either. Qui-Gon felt a pang at the fact that he'd not seen to her sooner himself. The woman’s entire world had turned on its head in the last few hours; she had to be exhausted.

“I will if you will, Ben, how’s that?” Shmi asked, her expression saying quite clearly that Obi-Wan wasn't fooling her in the slightest.

Obi-Wan gave a half-smile. “I don’t believe I’ll have a choice,” he said, nodding at Qui-Gon.

“I’ve always known you for an intelligent being, Padawan,” Qui-Gon agreed, and shifted as he felt Micah come up behind him.

Shmi pursed her mouth. “All right. I’ll – ”

“Anakin? Shmi?” Micah asked, gravely courteous, and held out his hand. “Let me show you to the quarters we designated for you.”

Shmi looked at Micah's hand, and then his face, her own expression going blank. “Thank you, Master Giiett.” She put her hand in his and rose, tiredly graceful, to her feet. Anakin, with a considering look at Micah and a warning one at Obi-Wan, trotted after them into the corridor.

“Well,” said Obi-Wan.

“Indeed,” said Qui-Gon, and put out his own hand. “Up you come, it's your turn.”

 

*

 

By the time they reached the cabin the two of them would be sharing, the painkiller Anakin had administered was making a dent. Obi-Wan's tilt was pronounced, and Qui-Gon made his decision on feeling and the Force, as he ever did. Sitting them both down on the bigger of the two bunks, he leaned back against the wall, both arms still around his padawan.

“Qui-Gon?”

“Turn a little, Obi-Wan, and pull your legs up.”

“Wha – ?”

“Pull your legs up, onto the bunk. That's it.”

The move put Obi-Wan canted sideways into Qui-Gon's chest, practically into his lap. Qui-Gon tucked the younger man's head beneath his own chin and grasped fingers around his own wrist, settling his padawan securely. “Mm-mn, no,” he rumbled when Obi-Wan shifted as if he might protest. “Relax. Comfortable?”

“Yes, but – ”

“But, nothing. Relax.”

“Master – ”

“Re-lax. You’ve nothing to prove here, Padawan, it’s just me. Stop fighting me,” Qui-Gon said, exasperated, affectionate.

“I – ” Then a long breath in and out, and a little settling of the tense body in Qui-Gon's arms as Obi-Wan consciously stilled himself. “Yes, Master.” The tone was only just a touch sarcastic.

Qui-Gon allowed himself both a smile and a quick hug. “Better. Now. Loosen your body, listen to it. One muscle at a time, from the outer-most to the inner-most self, giving all tension over to the Force. I know you know this technique, I taught it to you. Breathe with me. Breathe. Three deep breaths … good. Three more … ”

It took more, quite a few more, but eventually Obi-Wan managed a deeper inhale and exhale and then a deeper set still, and triggered the reaction Qui-Gon was after. He went near-boneless in Qui-Gon's hold, the tightness of his body finally releasing as the stress washed out of his aura like water from a sieve. “That's it,” Qui-Gon murmured. “That's it … ”

A long, soft sough of air from the man he held, warm and heavy. Obi-Wan smelled a bit sweat-rank, tinged with pain. A shower would take care of that, but later, after Obi-Wan had gotten some sleep.

“That's it.” Qui-Gon brushed his chin over tangled copper hair, feeling loose strands catching in his beard and caring not at all.

Obi-Wan shifted, but slowly, and Qui-Gon felt one hand come to rest on his hip. The pressure of the headache was lightening at long last, pain flowing away with the tension, no longer a sickening throb in their bond. It would go away completely this time, Qui-Gon thought.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said after some minutes, the words slurred.

The easing of a long pain could do that, and this time thankfully without the induced ecstatic overtone. Qui-Gon’s arms tightened briefly. “You’re welcome.”

Another sigh. “Y’ can't be comfortable like this.”

“No? Do you sense discomfort from me?” Other than the cold bulkhead at his back, but Qui-Gon would keep that to himself.

“ … no?”

“Well then.” Qui-Gon smiled again at the opposite wall. “This helps both of us, Obi-Wan. One of the worst parts of these last eight years has been not being able to touch you.”

“ … oh.”

A quality and a space of silence, cradled by the security and calm of the Force. Accented by the low peculiar hum/not-hum of a starship in hyperspace, and the breathing of the man in Qui-Gon's arms, until – “y're not going t' ask?”

 _Careful._ _G_ _o slow and careful, Master Jinn._ Qui-Gon hummed. “Only if you wish me to.”

Breathing, and the slow clench and release of the hand on Qui-Gon's hip. Drawn-out, almost nuzzling press of Obi-Wan against him – pressure against Qui-Gon's chest, as though Obi-Wan were seeking proof of life, listening to Qui-Gon's heartbeat. Qui-Gon would bet half the credits they'd just bought the Skywalkers for that Obi-Wan didn't realize he was doing it.

And eventually, words began to emerge, soft and slow. “They gave me t' the Temple, my parents did. Never knew 'em, like most of us don'. Temple's home, Jedi family. No interest in t' biological until I w’s … 'til I was a padawan. Didn' know their names until years later, an' I realized … ”

“ … realized … ?” Qui-Gon prompted. If the drugs and/or the surcease of pain were loosening Obi-Wan's tongue, Qui-Gon was listening.

Obi-Wan shifted, rubbing his face against Qui-Gon's tunics. “P’rhaps the Force doesn' have a sense of humor, but somethin' does. Shmi … wasn't freed w’ Anakin. Years later, Watto – sold her t' a man, Human man, who wanted her. Moisture farmer.”

And the coin dropped. Sun and moon and little stars. “To Cliegg Lars. Your father – owned Ani's mother?”

“Better,” Obi-Wan muttered, dry and dusty. “Married 'er.”

“Then, you and Anakin were truly siblings.” Light of the eternal Force. “In law as well as in the Order.”

“F'r a little while. But Ani … didn’ know then, ‘n they were long dead ‘fore I knew, and Owen wanted nothin’ to do w' me when I did f'nally meet him, after Anakin … No family.”

After Anakin – what? “The Jedi _are_ your family,” Qui-Gon said softly.

“N't like that.” Obi-Wan's head rolled a little, in negation. “Anakin told me, he knew … knew the diff'rence. Now I do, too.” A chuff. “Irony, not humor; the Force, ‘ mean.”

“How so?”

The response, when it finally came, was slower and fainter still, drugs and release of pain and probably sheer exhaustion all taking their toll. Was Obi-Wan trusting him with this, or simply too tired, at last, to care?

“No f'mily, ever. Never know 'em. Or know 'em, and … don' want you. Either life, don't matter. Disappoint 'em, not … good enough. Maybe … ”

“ … maybe?” Not moving, barely breathing for fear Obi-Wan would stop.

“Maybe tha's the coin. For the Force, so I c'n help. Always love, but never … n'ver … ”

And beneath that, beneath the words, opened up a veritable well of feeling: a chasm of love and utter sadness, its waters infinite, so deep that the pressure should be crushing and yet somehow – _somehow_ – still light. Full of Light, and sweet, not bitter.

“ _Obi-Wan.”_ Qui-Gon closed stinging eyes. Force help him, but his heart was going to break.

“Sss, no, 's alright.” A light stroke against his breast and little stars and all gods above and below, Obi-Wan was trying to comfort _him_. “'s what 'm meant for, sadness, so others don'. I c'n help. Need to help. 'N I have you now, again, f'r a while.” Another slow caress of Obi-Wan's face against Qui-Gon's chest. “ 's all right. Love you. Do, won' fail this time … ”

The words fell silent at the same time a tear finally escaped to trickle down into Qui-Gon’s beard, and Obi-Wan gave that little twitch that meant he was truly asleep.

Qui-Gon had no real idea how much time passed before the quiet snick of the door hatch sounded and Anakin stood there, with wide eyes and an utterly stricken look. Qui-Gon didn't dare shift his arms, but he beckoned with two fingers.

A minute later, the boy had pressed himself tightly into Qui-Gon’s side, his face buried in the hair at Obi-Wan’s nape and one small hand wrapped around Qui-Gon’s forearm. The Force around him was laced through with regret and sorrow and a vast, encompasing love that Anakin was making no effort at all to hide.

Love.

Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and _reached_.

The Force cradled them all, warm and peaceful.

_So be it._

_**This is** your family, Obi-Wan, and you **are** loved. So much. We love you._

Qui-Gon laid his cheek on the top of Obi-Wan's head, his throat tight, feeling grit and dried sweat in Obi-Wan's hair like the last lingering, clawed grasp of Tatooine. _No. By the Force, **enough**. _

_He is free now, to live in the Force and serve the Light, and he **will** heal. You **will not** have him. The Dark future he has seen – that he has lived – will not have him in this time._

_We love him._

… _**I** love him._

_Somehow, I will make him understand._

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Clenched Soul**
> 
>  
> 
> We have lost even this twilight.  
> No one saw us this evening hand in hand  
> while the blue night dropped on the world.
> 
> I have seen from my window  
> the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
> 
> Sometimes a piece of sun  
> burned like a coin in my hand.
> 
> I remembered you with my soul clenched  
> in that sadness of mine that you know.
> 
> Where were you then?  
> Who else was there?  
> Saying what?  
> Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly  
> when I am sad and feel you are far away?
> 
> The book fell that always closed at twilight  
> and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
> 
> Always, always you recede through the evenings  
> toward the twilight erasing statues. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Pablo Neruda_

**Author's Note:**

> Third story in the Side Slip universe. Our motley crewe finally gets free and away from Tatooine, but not before Obi-Wan must confront a piece of his own new / old past.
> 
> All thanks and praise as always to culturevulture73 for always reading, aiding, abetting, and egging on even when it's not exactly her pairing, and generally listening to me rattle; sanerontheinside for cogent suggestions and mutual love of Qui/Obi; merry_amelie for a lightning quick beta and general encouragement. You folks are awesome.


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